I feel the air...
As it brushes my face.
It smells of fear
And of disgrace
Each move
Each step...
Each turn I make
It tears me down
Trying to make me break.
I'm walking in a crowd
Of doubts...
Among the feeble signs
That cloud
My thoughts...
And trace the lines
Beneath my fingers
Above my head...
I think I'm dead.
It's not as bad
As it appears...
Is there still pain
When tears you shed
Are bloody tears?